


Coming Down

by orphan_account



Series: Supernatural Shorts [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s03e07 Fresh Blood, Fix-It, Gen, Monsters are people too, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 18:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3947902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was so sure that it was just another hunt. Just another alleyway, just another vamp. Even if Dean <i>was</i> trying to get himself landed in hell ahead of schedule.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Down

**Author's Note:**

> Because the beginning of Fresh Blood has always left a bad taste in my mouth, and y'all know how I like to rewrite things.

He was so sure that it was just another hunt. Just another alleyway, just another vamp. Even if Dean _was_ trying to get himself landed in hell ahead of schedule.

He's not so sure when the girl, bound to a chair, opens her eyes and starts hyperventilating.

They still ask her where the nest is; she denies everything. "I just want to come down," she keeps saying.

Dean is unsympathetic. Sam feels sick. He asks for her name; it's Lucy.

"All right, Lucy, how about this? If you tell us what happened, we'll let you go."

It's a lie. They won't let her go— _can't._ He learned his lesson after Madison: the terrible consequences that were exacted when you were foolish enough to take a gamble against the monster inside you, to _hope._

Lucy trusts him—he suspects that being trusting is what got her into this situation—and tells them everything she knows. She had apparently been looking for bigger and better artificial experiences, and the man—the _vampire,_ Dixon—had more than delivered.

"This drug, was it red and thick?" Dean asks. Sam thinks his voice is too loud; the girl is wincing like she has a headache. His eyes go wide with disbelief, then derision when she nods. "Well, _genius_ move there—"

"Dean," Sam interjects sharply. There's no point in harping on a mistake; what's done is done, and the end result will always be the same anyway.

"Dude, come on," Dean exhorts. "There's a sloppy trail of corpses leading right to her—"

"No!" Lucy cries, hurt and stunned. "I didn't kill anyone! I was hallucinating!"

"I hate to tell you this, sweetheart—" Dean doesn't sound like it's killing him to tell her; he's too angry about the bodies in the morgue, badly mutilated—"but that was no drug. You just got a mouthful of the nastiest virus out there: vampire blood."

Lucy is appropriately horrified. "Are you crazy? He _roofied_ me!"

"Yeah, well, you still killed people, Lucy in the Sky with—"

Sam doesn't let him finish. "Dean. _Shut up._ "

Dean looks wounded. "It's a little funny."

"Except she _was_ roofied, so no, it's not funny." He had attended enough date-rape campus talks with Jess to know that all the signs were there. "I mean she takes this stuff, blacks out, and ends up at the guy's house. Does it matter that it was vampire blood and not actual Rohypnol that did it? Don't be an asshole." Dean has the decency to look slightly ashamed now. "She's a _victim_ , Dean. And this creep's no different from a rapist."

He turns back to Lucy. "Look, we're gonna catch the guy who did this to you. I can promise you that much."

Lucy nods mutely. "Please let me go," she adds, closing her eyes forlornly.

He has no answer for that. They walk away from the girl, trusting their body language to communicate what they can't in words thanks to vampiric super-hearing.

Dean glares at him. _Okay, Mister Rogers, now what?_

Sam shakes his head. _We don't have a choice._

Dean lifts the machete a few inches. Looks pointedly at Sam. _You want me to take this one?_

Sam nods. Dean starts to march back towards Lucy but Sam touches his shoulder, makes a point of reaching the girl first.

_If I had just gotten any kind of contact off of Lenore—maybe she could have helped—_

"Are you going to let me go?" she asks, but even before she finishes her sentence she knows what the response is. The tells are not in the lines of his face or the slumped set of his shoulders, but in the sudden answering skip of his heartbeat. _Telltale heart,_ he thinks grimly. It always seemed to go back to hearts, with him.

"No! No, please! I don't want to die!"

"I'm sorry," Sam says. "But once you feed, there's no way to control your urges. And to live your life constantly on the run, being hunted down, never being able to go home to your family... it's a miserable existence." He doesn't look at Dean as he goes and takes a hold of her hand. It's cold, as cold as if she were already dead. "If I could change it, I would. You didn't deserve this."

Lucy keeps crying but she holds on to Sam's hand for dear life, and he places a palm on their joined hands, wondering if she finds his touch more comforting with her enhanced senses. They lock gazes, her tear-gauzed eyes meeting his hazel ones. He feels this strange kinship with her, even though he knows next to nothing about her: maybe because some part of him believes that he and she are heading on twin tracks, down the same path, and will meet up again somewhere at the end.

"Daddy," she whimpers.

Dean's face crumples a little at that, but as he lifts the machete up his features are smooth and emotionless.

Moments later there is blood on his clothes, and Lucy's hand is just as cold and lifeless.


End file.
